


Reader

by often_adamanta



Series: Reader Universe [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/often_adamanta/pseuds/often_adamanta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Beta'd by <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_dianadisaster"><a href="http://dianadisaster.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://dianadisaster.livejournal.com/"><b>dianadisaster</b></a></span>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [](http://dianadisaster.livejournal.com/profile)[**dianadisaster**](http://dianadisaster.livejournal.com/).

  
The maintenance man waiting for him at the hotel entrance makes a move forward as if to shake his hand, but flinches backwards after glancing at the two red bars sewn on Elijah’s coat over his heart.

Elijah pauses, watching the internal struggle with a blank face, waiting to see if it will become a problem.

"The fuckin' reader's giving us trouble again," he snarls finally, turning to lead Elijah into the building without looking back, letting the door swing shut in his face.

The maintenance man hasn't introduced himself, so Elijah decides to name him Bob. Bob is clearly an ass, but a lesser ass, since he's willing to do his job. Elijah pushes the door open easily and follows Bob across the marble lobby, Bob's eyes darting every which way, trying to keep any patrons from seeing him. They pass through a restricted entrance down into the basement, where he pauses at a locked door.

Bob gives him a skittish look, then crosses himself before bring his hand up to the lock for print verification. A superstitious ass, then. Elijah manages not to roll his eyes with some effort.

The lock analyzes his palm, too, not just fingerprint, which seems like overkill to Elijah, but then his opinion matters little in the scheme of things. The quiet ping of acceptance from the lock reports that Bob, whose real name is apparently Lenny Schmidt, has access to this area.

"Need to verify," Bob mutters, moving as far from Elijah as he can in the small hallway. Elijah places his own hand on the lock and waits as his id pops up, two red strips through the center, with a notice of good behavior from the Protectorate. Bob relaxes a little at that, but then the lock on the door clicks open, causing him to jump and tense all over again. He pulls the door open and, this time, lets Elijah enter first.

"Fifth damn time the fucking thing has broken down," Bob tells him once they're in the bright room. "No one's been able to fix it." He says it as though he's sure Elijah won't change that fact, but Elijah's attention is on the fixture in the center of the room.

The main structure looks like a pillar, but up close it's made of wires, a thick cord of black and red, stark against the white of everything else, flowing down to converge on what looks like a glass case.

Inside is what looks like a corpse, pale and unmoving, until one sees the faint movement of breathing and realizes that it’s a living person. The wires, condensed down to optic needles, thread into the reader's nervous system through the skin. Elijah steps smoothly up to the glass, and from here he can tell that it's a man. His face is framed in wires and completely expressionless, except for the eyes rolling beneath the thin skin of his eyelids, never still.

Elijah's looking at his own fate had his curse been any stronger than Grade 2.

"Lower the lights, please," Elijah says, grateful when they dim. He's only been in here a few minutes, but it's so bright that he's starting a headache.

He can tell immediately that there's a problem. The imps - the tiny robots controlled by the reader - are moving listlessly and hardly paying him any attention, a far cry from the busy curiosity they normally show. He kneels to examine the locks at the base of the unit. They're simple to open, from the outside at least, and he snaps one open.

"Hey!" Bob cries, "You can't do that!"

Elijah looks over at him, letting annoyance into his expression for the first time.

Bob takes a tiny step back.

"I can't fix the problem without looking to see what's wrong," Elijah explains levelly. "Besides, this machinery provides constant sedation. It's perfectly safe."

Bob looks mutinous, but doesn't stop Elijah from opening the other four locks and swinging the polymer cocoon open.

Elijah runs his fingers over the connections, not quite touching, but feeling all the same. Readers are Grade 1 Sensitives, able to discern the thoughts of those around them, but connected to this machine, they're much more than that. This one is the CPU of the security system of the entire hotel, able to contact the Protectorate in case of emergency, monitoring all the surveillance cameras of the building, using amplifiers to tell if any disturbance merits security.

He can sense the movement through the connections, and it's higher than he expected, much higher. The imps behavior had made him expect faulty connectors, but there's too much activity for that. The reader's brain is closer to consciousness than it should be and the imps are being ignored in an effort to compensate for the sheer amount of data being processed.

Someone's been tampering with the system.

An imp scuttles up to him, camera automatically focusing on his face. He grins at it and reaches down to pick it up, but it dodges him, skittering away on metal legs, and his hand brushes against the reader's skin, and he —

 _feels terror and pain and panic and lonely and terrorpainpanic and terrorterrorterrorterror_

— flings himself away, falling back on the floor, shaking and sweating, breath heaving.

Bob is screaming, throwing himself against the wall.

"It's okay!" Elijah calls before Bob can do something to hurt himself. "It's fine!" He stands up carefully, more to show Bob that he's unhurt than because he's ready to move. Bob's fear is pressing in on his mind, and he shoves it back out of his awareness, feeling scraped raw.

"I just got a shock," he answers Bob's unasked question. "Buildups can happen in the connections with this problem."

That's a complete lie. The system can't store charge without damaging the reader, and the platform is completely insulated. If Bob knew anything about the equipment, he'd know that Elijah was lying, but Bob didn't act like he'd had much contact with readers before.

Bob scowls at him, arms crossed as if he hadn't been screaming for his mother a few minutes before, but doesn't act suspicious.

Elijah studies the still form of the reader once more, looking for any hint of ... Well. He isn't sure. For a second, he thought he'd seen the reader open his eyes, dark brown and dilated, but that couldn't happen. Many of the connections were centered around the optical cortex. Even if he had opened them, he shouldn't have seen anything.

Elijah takes a deep breath. He'd received a severe mental shock. He shouldn't be surprised that he'd hallucinated his greatest fear: being hooked in, but completely aware. It hadn't happened. He carefully closes and re-locks everything back into place.

Elijah walks around the pillar to the controls built into the back. It takes him an hour, but he manages to get the processing and data speeds down to acceptable values, and then puts in an alarm that will sound if anyone tries to raise them again. He hesitates, and then ups the amount of sedative, shivering as an echo of that terror flashes through him again. Even if it does lower the reaction speed slightly, he can't allow the reader to stay that close to consciousness.

He comes back around and finds that the imps are already responding to his corrections in the coding, three of them watching him avidly as he double checks everything one last time.

"I'm done," he tells Bob, who after about half an hour had decided nothing else dramatic was going to happen and opted to game rather than supervise him.

"It's fixed?" Bob asks, skeptical.

"Should be. I'll have to come back next week to check that all the changes are optimized and that nothing was permanently damaged." At Bob's look of alarm, Elijah offers, "I can do that on the night shift if it's more convenient. Really, it'll be routine. I don't think I'll need the help of a technician."

Bob looks relieved not to have to come back. "I'll submit the forms to grant you access. It'll be one time only, of course."

"Of course," Elijah replies as Bob opens up the door and lets them back out into the hall. "I'll have my report submitted by tomorrow."

"Great," Bob says, although he seems happier about finishing with the whole mess than about the report. He leads Elijah out, this time through a back entrance. Elijah doesn't care. He avoids crowds when at all possible.

Bob disappears back into the building without a word of goodbye. Elijah hails an airtaxi, relieved that he didn't have another appointment today.

There’s a message waiting when he returns, the alert blinking a dull orange. Elijah taps it absently, then winces when it's from the Protectorate, scheduling his monthly check-in for the day after tomorrow. He decides the report can wait a few hours. He's taking a well-earned nap.

***

Elijah has to catch an airtaxi for his meeting with the Protectorate, which is almost more than he can afford, but their station in the heart of the city is too far to walk. He doesn't much go beyond his neighborhood, for both safety and convenience, unless the company that hires him is footing the bill, but there's no way the Protectorate is going to make any allowances for someone in his position.

The station is all glass and steel, a tall blade among the shorter, older buildings around it. It's all gleaming artifice, a beacon to a city of fearful citizens.

Elijah watches the door marked in red as they approach, floors lower than the entrance for normal people filing reports, lower than the entrance for those panicked children reporting for testing with their parents. He steps out of the taxi and immediately pushes against the wave of despair that hits him from the crowded lines all wearing red over their heart.

Most of the sensitives he sees wear four bars, marking them as a nominal risk, just enough to register. A few wear three bars, able to read or project strong emotions. Grade 2 is not as common. It means that he can skip the lines waiting to meet with a harried social administrator for their biyearly review but has to be interviewed by an officer every month instead.

Given the choice, he'd take the wait.

He threads through the crowd to an almost empty room ruled by a condescending receptionist, gives his name and takes a seat. The other woman waiting doesn't look up at him. He likewise ignores her.

He glances at the camera mounted on the ceiling. It's never wise to get noticed.

His name is finally called by tall, beefy man who looks at Elijah as if he’s something to be scraped off his shoe. Elijah hastily blocks the impulse to think of the man as Meatball.

Elijah hasn't met with this officer before, but they are all cut from the same playground bully cloth. He's noticed that this job seems to be one for new officers fresh from training. This doesn't make them less dangerous, just more willing to use any infraction against you to try and get ahead.

He points to a chair in the small interview room, taking a seat behind the desk, adjusting the camera so that it is pointed directly at Elijah, and begins.

"Have you left the city at any time during the last month?" Meatb — the officer has yet to look at him, staring instead at the monitor.

"Three weeks ago I was hired to consult for a security firm that is located outside the city limits. I submitted the required paperwork to the Protectorate and, as per regulation, was accompanied by a representative of the company at all times."

The actual questions are not so bad. What makes this so horrible is that he is, quite literally, unable to lie. There is a reader below them monitoring their conversation, Elijah's own reactions amplified through the system, directly into the readers brain, and displayed on the screen. Even lies of omission are found out.

He's heard rumors that the Protectorate have five readers for their own personal use. He believes it.

"Have you disobeyed any regulations in the last month?"

"Not that I’m aware of." He thinks this question was created simply to trip up anyone who doesn't keep track of the constantly changing regulations.

"Have you been a danger to the safety of the people or their personal freedoms?"

"No." Elijah answers shortly.

That is the main crux of the matter: sensitives hold the ability, among a variety of others, to manipulate people against their will. Fifty years ago, it had taken one scared and beaten kid forcing several of his classmates to jump out of a fourth floor window and another sick fuck that had figured out he could roofie girls with his mind before the public was screaming for blood and protection.

They had gotten both, though Elijah didn't think the Bobs of the world understood the cost.

"Have you entered into any romantic or sexual relationships?"

Elijah always wants to laugh at that question, because it isn't as if anyone wants to sleep with a social leper like him. It isn't as if he'd let anyone get onto the Protectorate watch list through him. "No," he replied.

"Please name your associates for the record."

"I have none," Elijah says.

The officer frowns, then glances at him for the first time. "Are you trying to lie?"

"No," Elijah says, feeling only confusion as adrenaline kicks into his veins.

The officer straightens in his chair, and Elijah can feel his excitement.

"So the name Mortensen means nothing to you?" Elijah stares at him blankly. "Viggo Mortensen."

"Oh," Elijah says, exhaling the breath he'd been holding. "Viggo isn't an associate. He's the owner of a pub in my neighborhood. He’s the person I probably see most regularly, and I have positive feelings about him because he allows me to eat there, but we're not... If he didn't check my ID card for the good behavior notice, I don't think he'd be able to pick me out of a line up."

The officer slumps, disappointed, as the screen shows that Elijah is being truthful, and the rest of the interview is routine.

***

He argues with himself the entire way home, but in the end, he just can't stomach not warning Viggo. He'll probably be kicked out of the pub altogether, but he's going to have to avoid the place for the next six months or so, anyway, so it's not much of a loss.

Viggo's Pub is just around the corner from his apartment, on the outskirts of a retail center that Elijah doesn't dare use. Crowds too easily lead to mobs in Elijah's opinion.

He wordlessly gives Viggo his ID, which shows the updated good behavior notification when Viggo scans it.

"Good stew tonight," Viggo offers, handing it back.

Elijah nods. "I'll have that, then. Thank you." He puts his ID away before continuing. "But to go, please, if it's not too much trouble."

"Nope," Viggo responds, ringing him up and sending the order back to the kitchen. He doesn't even act relieved that Elijah won't be staying. No wonder Elijah had gotten attached, even without realizing it.

Elijah pays and waits at the bar, fingers tracing the grain of the shiny wood. He's glad there aren't that many customers tonight. A few regulars in the dark booths around the room, one set of younger men obviously at the beginning of a bar crawl. It's too early for the dinner rush, so there won't be many witnesses. He just doesn't know how Viggo's going to react.

A few minutes later, Viggo brings out a paper bag that smells incredible, handing it over to him. "Work troubles?" he asks.

Elijah's so surprised he almost drops the bag. "Ah. Excuse me?"

"You look upset and are in a hurry. Is there trouble at work?"

"Oh. No, not that," Elijah says, then gathers his courage. "I had an interview with the Protectorate today."

Viggo nods. That's clearly answer enough for him, but Elijah forces himself to continue, staring at the bar between them.

"Actually, I came by to tell you that — to warn you. Your name came up, and I explained that you only owned this pub, but I'm afraid that you might now be listed as one of - as my associate."

He glances up, but Viggo's inscrutable, and Elijah's never been able to sense much from him. Not that he's tried.

"Obviously, I won't come by for a while, and I just wanted to. Well, to apologize. So, I—"

"I'm not going to let you apologize for thinking highly of me," Viggo interrupts, voice still as low as ever, but firming up somehow. Elijah jerks instinctively, then stares when he realizes what Viggo had said.

Viggo waves off his surprise. "I haven't spoken to you much because I didn't want to put you in an awkward position trying to protect me, but you're welcome here any time, Elijah."

"But the Protectorate—"

"Has no say over who I serve in my own pub. If they come sniffing around, I'll tell them the truth: you're quiet and always pay your bill, and that's more than I can say for a lot of my customers."

Elijah finds himself fighting back tears, which is ridiculous. He's told himself over and over again that it doesn't matter what other people think of him. Still, this unexpected kindness almost overwhelms him. "Thank you," he manages after a long pause, voice rough. He clears his throat. "I'm not sure..."

"You do what you need to," Viggo tells him when he trails off. "Just remember what I've said."

He nods and, clutching his dinner, leaves before he embarrasses them both.

***

The rest of Elijah's week is too busy for him to spend much time dwelling on what Viggo had said because a large construction project is unable to get their amplifiers to work. Elijah finds they'd been installed wrong in the first place and spends hours correcting the path of the wires. The reader hasn't been installed yet, and Elijah's glad not to have to go down into the basement. He's always a little jittery after his interview, and the extra stress of dealing with the belligerent construction workers is quite enough, thanks.

By the time he finished that project, he's scheduled for the follow up with Bob's hotel. He comes at night, through the back entrance like he'd agreed, and Bob's done his part because no security personnel appear to question him. The door pings approval when he gives it his hand print, and the heavy bolt clicks open.

Inside, it's exactly as he remembers, although he's already caught the attention of several imps, which is an encouraging change from last time.

Without having to keep his calm in front of Bob, he can admit to himself how much this place creeps him out. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing up, his heart pounding a little harder than it should. He can _feel_ the flow of information funneling down into the platform in a way he can't really explain. There are just no words for this, not any that don't fall flat against the actual sensations.

He steps forward and is struck by a flashback to the last time he'd stood here, hands shaking with shock and terror and _terror_ , sees himself opening the case, hand reaching down, pale skin unrelieved against pale skin - and takes a deep breath to control his breathing. This is just a job, and he's being stupid, emotional and inexcusably stupid. He straightens his spine and goes to the back of the platform to examine the code.

It only takes twenty minutes or so to run all the diagnostics. All the checks come back green, as Elijah had expected. He pokes about with the wires, checking the connections which vibrate against his fingertips, but finally there's nothing else to keep him from his final task.

He comes around the pillar and steps lightly up on the platform. There's no need to open the case this time unless he senses a problem.

The reader appears the same. Nothing happens, and after a few seconds, he relaxes, feeling a little silly. He leans over the case and traces out the tiny sparks of connection, data exchanged at a rate higher than an average human brain can handle.

Amidst all that glowing, one spot of frigid cold.

Shit.

It feels like one of the connections has come out of the reader completely. Not only is that repair way above his pay grade, the last time he reported this particular problem, the company had accused him of sabotage and sued him for damages. He has no desire to go through all that again.

Maybe it's just a loose lead, though. That's an easy fix. He nudges at the cool spot again with his mind, but the only way to tell is to physically check.

He kneels and quickly pops the locks open, lifting the case out of his way. He scrambles up on his feet again, leaning over with one hand extended to examine the damage when cold fingers clamp around his wrist, tight. His eyes snap up to the reader's face, to brown eyes almost black from dilation.

He stares, shocked, and then is aware of the reader in his mind, effortlessly flowing in and beginning to take control.

He fights. He gathers his will in the center of his mind and lets it burn, too hot, too bright, for the reader to touch - but he's spent his whole life suppressing these skills. The reader surrounds the fire burning in Elijah's mind, pressing in slowly, smothering out Elijah's resistance.

Elijah can't even move, his mind’s being held so tightly. He can only stare into the impossible sight of a reader, awake and functioning.

The reader's hand has let go of his wrist, and Elijah can feel through the touch of their minds just how hard physical movement is. He tries to break free of the reader’s hold again, but for all his physical weakness, his mind is strong, and there’s nothing Elijah can do to break free of the invading presence.

 _Please_ , the reader thinks, straight into Elijah's brain, _Please. Help me._

Pretty much the only help the reader's going to get is a complete diagnostic and refurbishment from Protectorate certified technicians who won't be fooled by any of the hacking that must have cut off the reader's sedatives.

 _No,_ is the insistent reply. _Get me out. We're going to leave._

Elijah boggles at that. They're not going to get five steps toward the door. The hotel will send security to check the system failures that will occur when the reader gets unplugged, if they're lucky. If not, the Protectorate is going to be waiting for them, with little mercy for renegade Sensitives.

 _I've convinced the system that the red flags are part of a diagnostic to test the fail safes. We'll have 20 minutes after I disconnect before it crashes._

That is ... an interesting solution. Elijah's not sure he would have though of it, but even compared with his skills, the reader's knowledge of the computer system is necessarily intimate.

It still won't work, though. Their presence will be reported and tracked by every reader in the city. There's nowhere they can run or hide that will protect them from the surveillance net around the city.

 _I can use the amplifiers to hide our presence,_ the reader insists.

Elijah is lightheaded. The reader relaxes the hold on his mind, and Elijah gasps in a deep breath, suddenly aware of the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

He reaches out mentally, and when the reader doesn't stop him, feels his way to the amplifiers, and holy shit, it's true. The reader's connections make the amplifiers easier to use, faster, but any Sensitive strong enough can access them.

He suppresses hysterical laughter, but the reader can feel it ringing in his mind anyway. The Protectorate, in their zeal to protect and possess, have built an elaborate system into the roots of the city that is only vulnerable to the very subjects they were meant to control.

 _So no more excuses,_ the reader whispers through their rising sense of satisfaction. _Help me._

 _As if I have a choice,_ Elijah whispers back, because he's not in control of his own actions at the moment, and there's no pretending otherwise. Then, stronger, he thinks, _Yes._

***

The reader mostly leaves his mind at that point except for a thin presence to monitor him. Elijah flexes the muscles in his hands and arms restlessly but can't really fault that decision, especially as it allows him a small measure of insight into how the reader is doing.

"This is going to hurt," Elijah says, voice loud after their long silence. He clears his throat, examining the task before him. It's not just the optic sensors, needle thin, that have to be removed one at a time, but the catheter and various IVs and the feeding tube. It's meant to be done under full anesthesia, but that's not really an option.

The reader's sudden relief washes through him, and at his curiosity, he feels the fear of being wired into the system permanently, year after year spent in sedation and slavery, until there was nothing left of him but a body to be cut free. It's all images and emotions, and Elijah shudders at the intensity, sending reassurance that he'll be free soon.

Readers are too valuable to be a disposable product.

Elijah removes the thin sheet covering the reader to his waist, leaving him naked in the cool air, and begins. The imps help him move equipment and shift the reader's too weak limbs, but as he works, the remaining connections lessen, and so does the reader's control over them. They collapse in a half dozen little metallic heaps when Elijah is two-thirds of the way through the cranial connections. He's doing these last as they're the most important, the main data feed to the system that, disconnected, is what will cause it to crash.

The newly liberated skin looks smooth, hiding the tiny casings of the optic wires against the bone of his skull, but each one bleeds faintly so that it looks like the reader is sweating blood.

He has to push the reader's mind further from his own during the process, the pain too much for him to bear while concentrating enough to inflict more and more, a rising wave of agony.

Finally, he's finished, but looking down at the reader, shaking and bleeding from the process, he's struck again by what a hopeless plan this is.

At his doubt, the reader's eyes fly open and the presence in Elijah's mind increases, as if preparing to take control again.

"I'm ... okay," the reader croaks out, causing him to cough.

Elijah doesn't have the time or inclination to call the reader on that lie. He just removes his long outer coat and gets the reader into it. The sleeves are too short, but the reader's so thin that it fits in the body, and it'll help against the damp chill.

"Let's go," he decides, after a brief survey of the room turned up nothing useful. He practically carries the reader to the door. Imps use electrical acupuncture to help against atrophy, but that only goes so far, and the reader is weak from pain.

He pulls the door open, and they're out, still alarm and Protectorate free, already farther than Elijah thought they'd get.

About half-way to the exit, the reader slows and points to a ubiquitous door. Elijah pushes them in and finds it full of work coveralls and uniforms. He outfits the reader in several layers and a pair of shoes that mostly fit, working as fast as he can, before pulling the coat back on over the whole mess in an attempt to curb the shudders running through the reader's body.

Then they're off again, out the back door and into the night without so much as a witness.

Elijah presses the call button for an airtaxi, and keeps them against the building in the shadows. The longer they wait for the taxi to arrive, they more convince Elijah is that they’re going to be caught, but the reader’s doing something to manipulate the amplifiers into reporting them not there. It's absolutely amazing, and Elijah isn't sure he'd even be able to sense it if he couldn't feel the small disruptions in their current.

"Orlando," the reader says softly, and at Elijah's blank look, adds, "My name is Orlando."

"Nice to meet you," Elijah replies with no small amount of sarcasm. "I'm Elijah."

Orlando stares up through the buildings and the traffic to the stars just visible in the distance while Elijah can’t help but glance around compulsively until the taxi glides down.

He can feel Orlando's fear that he won't be able to conceal their presence from the taxi's system, too, because they're on completely separate systems. His entire mind is beginning to feel heavy, soaked in exhaustion.

 _I've got it,_ Elijah thinks, and easily gains control of the taxi's systems as it opens the door beside them, cementing the control as they climb in and he can physically touch the thin cocoon of metal through which the wires flow. He checks on Orlando, who is still manipulating the amplifiers. He can feel his shock at Elijah's abilities.

Elijah smirks, amused at Orlando underestimating him. _I can also open any door in the city in three seconds flat._ "Where to?" he asks aloud, glad to see that Orlando is smiling faintly. He's starting to get worried that Orlando is going to collapse on him at any minute.

 _Viggo's Pub._

"No," Elijah says flatly, frowning.

 _I hacked his file. He'll be able to help us._

"I'm not pulling him into this."

 _He likes you. Trust me, he won't mind,_ and when he still hesitates, _We have to get out of here. And it's not like you have a choice, remember?_

Elijah scowls, both at the memory of Orlando taking his will and the reminder that the alarm will sound soon, and inputs the address into the taxi.

He ignores Orlando for the entire ride, focusing on deleting any evidence of their trip from the taxi's logs and linked database. It's a mix of hacking and his own well-hidden skills that Elijah's never really had a chance to experiment with, and he ignores the eyes on the back of his neck.

They go in the back through the kitchens. The old man working the grill, whom Elijah has only caught glimpses of despite the many times he's eaten here, is facing away from them. Orlando flicks a thought at him, and he falls unconscious, hitting his head against the floor. Elijah gives him a reproachful look, but Orlando merely shrugs, shifting his weight from Elijah's grip to the nearest wall. _He needs a reason for being unconscious._

"What now?" Elijah asks.

 _Get Viggo,_ he answers simply.

Elijah finds the small console that receives the orders from the register and flags them as ready. He hits the button.

A few seconds later, although it feels like much longer in their anxious silence, Viggo comes through the door. He freezes, the small smile on his face turning blank as his dark eyes take in Elijah hovering, the stranger slumped against the wall, and his cook injured on the floor.

"Wait here," he says, his quiet voice unusually hollow.

Elijah glances at Orlando and then back at the door, but if Orlando doesn't seem worried about Viggo calling the Protectorate, then Elijah's not going to bother. He grabs a bag of chips from a nearby shelf and starts eating, suddenly ravenous.

He's three-fourths of the way finished when Orlando sends, _The Protectorate is responding to the hotel's alarm._

 _Took them a while to trigger it,_ Elijah thinks back, not wanting to be overheard, unlikely though it is.

 _They had to fix their communications system first,_ Orlando returns, smug satisfaction tinging the thought, and he shares the details of the damage he'd done right before Elijah had disconnected him.

It's brilliant, but Elijah doesn't have time to dwell as Viggo slips back in the kitchen, a bag slung over each shoulder.

He drops them both by Orlando, opens one and begins, pointing to each item as he goes. "Emergency rations, two hand guns, one rifle, ammunition, several knives, protein shakes - you can't eat solid foods for at least a week," he warns Orlando, "bed rolls, tent, thermal blanket, standard first aid kit." He closes that bag and opens the second, Elijah watching in amazement. "Two comp pads with untraceable satellite connectors, amplifier blocks that I never risked testing, clothing, water purifier, two electric stun guns, first aid kit - this one is specifically for readers, with everything from the specialized medicines that will prevent withdrawal symptoms to massage oil to help treat the muscle atrophy."

Elijah’s never heard Viggo speak this much at once, but he's not done yet. He reaches in a pulls out an actual paper notebook. Elijah can't even remember the last time he saw paper.

"The notebook includes instructions for care after removal, research into the system itself, and best of all, a list of safe houses that were bought through a long list of shell companies, so the Protectorate should have one hell of a time finding them." He turns to the addresses, giving it to Elijah, who runs a hand over the slick page indented with ink. "Pick one at random - don't tell me which! - and you should be safe for a while. Especially since you're going to have to take the memories of this with you."

Orlando nods. Elijah's still gaping. Most of that second bag was highly illegal. "Viggo," he breathes, "Why do you have all of this?"

Viggo looks back down at the equipment, closing the second bag.

"He was trying to get his son out," Orlando explains.

"Henry," Viggo says, still fiddling with the bags. "They took him when he was eight." He looks up and gives Elijah a weak smile. "You really didn't have to worry about getting me on that watch list. I've been one of their favorites for years."

He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and hands them to Elijah. "Personal ground car, trackers disabled, around the left corner."

"I don't know how to drive," Elijah says.

"You'll learn," Orlando states and takes Viggo's hand. He gives Elijah's mind a tug, and Elijah goes along, reaching out for Viggo's mind. They hit a barrier, which is surprising. Viggo must be Grade 4 Sensitive himself. The most controlled, the ones who can stay calm and quiet, can slip past detection. Orlando knocks gently, although he's more than capable of breaking through, and Viggo relaxes, letting them in.

Viggo's mind is nothing like Orlando's or Elijah's own. They are both able to project just the thoughts they want, keeping others quiet, or even hidden, in the background. Viggo has to give them everything, all the worries about his son, his astonishment that they have been able to do this, his genuine affection for Elijah, his fear for them. Orlando, feeling Elijah become overwhelmed, binds him tighter to Orlando's own thoughts.

They trace the memories of getting these supplies, his tireless efforts to create safe houses, and gently erase them. When he thinks of these hours, he'll know that he forgot to keep someone safe, but not who or why.

Then Orlando finds the knowledge of how to drive the car. _Take it_ , they think, and Elijah does, hours of driving and repairs implanted into his memories. They ease back, only these last twenty minutes left to deal with.

 _Thank you,_ Orlando thinks, and then they're out and moving towards the door. As it shuts behind them, Viggo makes a sound of alarm at finding his cook on the floor after coming in to get an order.

 _Will you be able to drive?_ Orlando thinks.

"Yup," he replies shortly, too distracted with the bags and helping Orlando to elaborate. He doesn't have the muscle memory, but he won't crash them either. He's just glad they're going to stop travelling soon. Orlando's on the edge of his endurance.

The safe house, number seven on the list, is neither the closest or the farthest from Viggo's or the hotel. The neighborhood is a little grubby, but that just means no one looks twice as they go into the well-secured first floor apartment.

Elijah switches the identification numbers on the car to one of the several spares he'd found in the trunk and drags in the bags. He pulls out the amplifier blocks and turns them on, lining the walls with the small devices. Orlando gasps when he drops the last one and they complete the circuit. He crumples onto the floor and retches, but there's nothing to come up.

"Okay," he murmurs soothingly, levering Orlando up off the floor and into the bathroom. He runs a glass of water and gives it to Orlando as he leans his bare head against the tile, little smears of blood appearing against the white with each touch. "Drink this slowly," he instructs. "I'll be right back."

He grabs the notebook, and flips through the pages. The words are all vaguely familiar, and he realizes that Viggo's mind must have left more of an impression than he realized. He'll read through it more in depth tomorrow, but for now, he's got the gist.

Their main concern is infection. If they can stave that off, the rest is just a matter of healing. It'll take some time - Orlando isn't going to be eating solid foods or running marathons tomorrow - but they can do it.

He sorts through the specialty first aid kit and returns to the bathroom. "Come on," he says, turning on the shower. He strips off Orlando’s stolen clothing, checks the water temperature, and maneuvers Orlando beneath the water.

"Oh..." Orlando sighs, and dips his head beneath the spray. The water turns a faint pink as it runs down the drain.

Elijah removes his own clothes, grabs the antiseptic soap from the kit and joins Orlando in the shower.

He washes himself first, moving a reluctant Orlando out of the spray when he needs it. It's only been hours since he showed up at the hotel for a routine check, but it feels much longer than that, and he's grimy from sweat and fear.

When he finishes, he takes Orlando's hand and begins to wash it, moving up his arm and checking the places where he'd been connected. It's not until he reaches Orlando's collarbone that he glances up and finds Orlando staring at him, eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

They're standing close, naked, and Elijah realizes he probably should have asked for permission. Orlando doesn't seem upset, though, just gives Elijah his other hand, so Elijah keeps working, washing away any hints of blood. Orlando moves when Elijah needs him to, reading Elijah's intentions effortlessly, and soon he's urging Orlando back under the spray to rinse.

He rinses again himself and gets out, pulling a large towel from the small linen cabinet. Like the rest of the apartment, it’s well stocked. He turns off the water to Orlando's disappointment and dries them both off.

Elijah's checking Orlando's scalp when Orlando moves his hand up to Elijah's cheek, fingers clumsy against his shower warm skin. “Are you okay?” Elijah asks, taking the hand and holding it.

 _Just don't stop touching me._ The thought is so faint Elijah could have imagined it, so he doesn't respond, but he doesn't let go, either.

Orlando starts shaking again in the colder air of the bedroom, so Elijah finds loose pants for them to wear in one of the drawers. They're a little long for him, but they'll do.

He pulls an extra blanket down from the closet and gets them settled into bed, Orlando curled up against his side, skin to skin. 


	2. Chapter 2

  
"Hey," Elijah says, shaking Orlando with enough force to wake him. "Drink this."

Orlando glares at him in an unfocused kind of way, but Elijah has learned to be relentless in the last thirty-six hours. Orlando chokes down half a protein shake and a full glass of water and falls back asleep.

If you can call the semi-conscious state Orlando's been in since they reached the safe house 'sleep'. It's really freaking Elijah out. He keeps checking to make sure Orlando's breathing.

Other than sleeping and force-feeding Orlando, there's not much to do. He's read through the info Viggo gave him, gone through the supplies in the apartment and attempted not to go crazy.

Finding the tiny camera embedded in the door helped. At least this way he'll see the face of his doom, and watching kids run past outside is better than nothing as far as entertainment goes.

He's eating cereal and staring at the small screen when a hand comes out of nowhere and grabs his shoulder.

Elijah screams, twisting and falling out of the chair, which crashes over on its side. The bowl of cereal goes flying, milk splashing everywhere as he rolls into a crouch, turning to face his assailant.

Orlando is standing there, wide-eyed with his hand still extended, milk dripping down his bare chest.

Elijah takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes and takes another. "Shit, man," he says, beginning to pick himself up, shakily.

He looks up sharply when Orlando gives a small choking sound. Orlando's hand is now covering his mouth, and for a second Elijah thinks he's going to be sick, but then he's laughing, the noises muffled.

Elijah stares, transfixed for an instant, before whirling around and grabbing a small towel that's hanging beside the sink. He turns and throws it at Orlando, but Orlando's laughing too hard to catch it in time. Elijah leans against the counter as Orlando retrieves it and halfheartedly pats himself dry.

"Yes, hilarious," he says sharply. It’s good one of them can laugh, because Elijah doesn’t see any humor in this fucked up situation.

Orlando sobers as quickly as he'd broken down in laughter when Elijah's mood catches his attention. He sinks gingerly into one of the chairs not currently covered in spilled milk.

Elijah immediately straightens and begins pacing, whirling back around when he feels the faintest touch of Orlando's mind, buzzing against his gently. "No! You do not get to - to just do that! That's how you dragged me into this mess in the first place, and I will stay in control of my own mind, thank you very much."

"I wasn't going to—"

"Do you have any idea how much trouble we're in?" Elijah demands, not waiting to hear assurances that are both true and useless. He knows that touch was nothing more than concern, but he also knows that Orlando will take control without hesitation if forced, just like before. "This may have hidden us from the Protectorate for now, but there's no way it's going to last! They're out there, right now, hunting us down." He's too afraid to yell, but his voice is vicious, anger bleeding through every word. "No one has ever escaped the system, and they're not going to let us be the first. They're going to find us, and they're going to kill us, and you don't have a clue what to do next, do you?"

Orlando is sitting motionless, looking pale and tired even after sleeping for a day and a half straight, and the sight of it makes Elijah's teeth clench until they hurt. He gets right up into Orlando's face, bracing his arms on the table to lean over him. "Do you?" he hisses.

"No," Orlando admits softly.

That admission breaks his rage, and he moves back, collapsing into another chair. He scrubs at his face with his hands. This close, he can feel the distress radiating off of Orlando and see the faint shaking in his hands.

"You should drink some water," Elijah says. "You have to take more meds in half an hour."

"Elijah," Orlando says, reaching out and then thinking better of it, folding his hands in his lap. They’re still shaking. "I can't apologize for getting you involved, because I don't regret it. I would have done anything to get out of there. But for taking control like that? I'm sorrier than you can imagine. I've been a slave for most of my life, and I never, ever want to do that to anyone. I promise that I won't ever take over again. I promise."

Elijah picks up the towel and wipes at a spot on Orlando's neck, milk going faintly sticky as it dries, and he can feel Orlando's sincerity tingling every time their skin brushes together. "Alright," he agrees, and starts cleaning up the table. "We really are going to have to figure out what to do next."

Orlando examines the camera feed and then yawns. "Viggo gave us those comp pads. We can see what the news feeds are saying, at the least."

"Later. You're going to have to stay awake for more than five minutes to do that." Elijah puts the dirty rag in the sink and runs Orlando a glass of water.

"You could always leave," Orlando suggests, studying the glass before taking a drink.

Elijah could have left at any point while Orlando was unconscious earlier, too, but he isn't sure he can manipulate the system like Orlando does, and without that, leaving is tantamount to turning himself in to the Protectorate. After a conversation that makes his monthly interview look like a friendly chat, he'll look forward to life in prison, mostly likely sedated for safety - and that's the minimum sentence. "I'm not going anywhere until I'm convinced you're not going to drop dead on me," he says finally with a rueful smile. Orlando smiles back and relaxes in his chair, drinking his water.

When Orlando is settled again, Elijah pulls out Viggo's notes and goes over the few scraps of information they have. He finally gives up - there's nothing new, and the words are starting to blur - and crawls into a bed warmed by Orlando's body. The too deep breathing gives Orlando up as awake. He's become very familiar with how Orlando sleeps.

Remembering Orlando's request their first night here, he turns and arranges them so that they're positioned back to back, skin touching all along their spines.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. He can feel the muscles in Orlando's back relaxing incrementally against his. "I'm just scared."

"Every time I woke up, I expected you to be gone." A wave of relief and gratitude flows into him, but fades quickly, as if Orlando catches himself.

"Sleep," he says, and follows his own advice.

According to Viggo's notes, all Orlando should be doing that first week is sleeping, but Elijah knows they don't have the luxury of too much time. Plus, Orlando is so determined that Elijah can feel it across the room. He doesn't argue when Orlando starts walking around the apartment.

It's more like pacing than anything else, short steps from the bedroom to the kitchen and back again. Orlando only managed the first trip because he braced his unsteady legs with the wall, but now he's walking with something more like a normal stride. He still looks stiff and awkward, like he doesn't quite know what to do with his own limbs.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," Elijah chides gently. Orlando's looking a little strained around the eyes. "Maybe it's time for a nap?"

"I don't want to sleep anymore," Orlando argues, very close to pouting.

Elijah suppresses his smile, but Orlando must sense his amusement anyway, because he gets a glare in return. "Alright, you don't have to sleep. I have instructions for some physical therapy I can help you with."

"Yeah?" Orlando asks, smiling.

He isn't sure this is a good idea, but seeing how excited Orlando is, he can't regret making the offer. "Go lie down. I'll be right there."

Orlando immediately stands, catching himself on the chair as he sways for an instant before he's walking back into the bedroom.

Elijah goes over to their bags of supplies, still meticulously packed, and pulls out the bottle of massage oil. He knows that this is a medical necessity and as such he shouldn't feel weird about this.

He turns the thermostat up and goes into the bedroom to find Orlando has already stripped down to his underwear and is lying on his stomach.

He climbs on to the bed and opens the small bottle, coating his palms. "Okay?" he asks.

"Mhmm," Orlando replies, muffled by the pillow and sounding half asleep already.

So Elijah begins, starting at Orlando's neck and working down across his shoulders and back. Orlando's far too thin, another mark his time as a reader has left on his body. This will help, though, is helping. Elijah can feel the tension flow out and the blood flow in as he massages.

Elijah senses diffuse pleasure, but Orlando must have a tight grip on his thoughts because nothing else gets through. It leaves Elijah free to concentrate on the skin sliding firmly beneath his fingertips, on the shape of each weakened muscle.

It’s been so long since Elijah has touched anyone. He remembers the last time, remembers his mother holding him, her grief and fear making her fingers too tight, and then his father's dark expression as they leave, deaf to Elijah's cries.

Orlando makes a low sound of distress, and Elijah banishes the memory as he sweeps his hands down Orlando's spine. "Sorry," he apologizes. He hadn't meant for Orlando to share that.

"It's okay." Orlando's voice is soft so Elijah almost misses his next statement. "I don't really remember my parents. When I think about them, they're just a blur."

Elijah doesn't know what to say to that, so he keeps silent. He pours more oil into his hands and starts on Orlando's legs. He concentrates on this, and eventually they both relax again. Orlando turns over without being asked when Elijah finishes massaging his legs.

Having Orlando face him makes him realize just how intimate this is, how familiar he’s becoming with this body. He digs his thumbs into one shoulder and follows the arc of a collarbone. He can't help the slow burn of desire in him, held deep and secret. He’d given up on relationships early, but despite his own well-learned cynicism, he finds himself hoping.

Orlando is asleep when he finishes, and for a while he just sits and stares, unwilling to move away. His hand rests on Orlando's chest, feeling the heartbeat beneath his palm, a steady reminder that he’s not alone. He’s beginning to think that this whole mess might just be worth it.

***

"I think we should try to check the news," Orlando says two days later as he claims victory over a very small and watery bowl of oatmeal.

"Hmm." It's absurdly early in the morning, and Elijah is still a little asleep.

"I stayed awake for a whole hour yesterday. And look, I'm eating food!"

"I see that," Elijah says, amused. He weighs the pros and cons and finally decides that they really do need to figure out what's going on out there. "Alright," he agrees, helplessly smiling back when Orlando beams at him.

"All you're going to do is keep the amplifiers from detecting us so they can’t find us," Elijah warns him again once they have the comp pad set up. They'll have to take down the amplifier blocks to connect to the city database. "I'll do all the searching."

Orlando nods, frowning in concentration, and Elijah shuts off one of the blocks. Orlando gasps, sweat breaking out face, but after a moment, he nods again. Elijah touches his hand to make sure everything is stable and can feel the strain. This will have to be quick.

He asks for any breaking news and public service announcement in the past week. It's a big data dump, but he's afraid of making the request anymore specific. He scans the files as they download, finding and disabling several tracking viruses.

Orlando is panting by the time it's done, and Elijah quickly reactivates the amplifier block.

"That was much more difficult than before," Orlando manages, shaking and pale.

"You're not overdosing on adrenaline and desperation this time," Elijah tells him with a smile. "And you're still healing."

"Yeah," Orlando says, running a hand over his skull and the barely there growth of hair. "Well, what did we get?"

"Let's find out," Elijah says, and pulls up the story with the earliest time stamp.

The vid begins with a pretty brunette, expression properly grave, standing in front of the hotel. "Chaos still rules at the site of an historic criminal disturbance where a Grade 2 sensitive sabotaged the reader system of this hotel and stole invaluable property. The suspect is still at large and considered extremely dangerous."

A picture of Elijah flashes onto the screen, one from his interviews with the Protectorate, an expression of disgust on his face.

They cut back to the reporter standing with a Protectorate officer. "Here we have Lt. Commander Dourif. What can you tell us about the situation, Commander?"

"The full weight of the Protectorate is behind the search for this suspect. It's only a matter of time before he's caught. No fugitive has ever escaped our reach, and we are on the case, so there is no need for panic.

That said, please remember that we don't know what this vile criminal is capable of, so exercise extreme caution. Only the Protectorate is equipped to deal with this. It's the reason we're here - to protect the public from sensitives like this one who are twisted and seek to harm."

"Thank you, Commander," the brunette says. He nods and steps out of the frame. "Guests are being questioned and relocated to another hotel, while one accomplice has already been arrested, a man by the name of Viggo Mortensen." A grainy picture of Viggo appears. "He's been on the Protectorate watch list for years and finally crossed the line from troublemaker to terrorist." Her image appears again, the camera zooming out to show the Protectorate and other officials swarming around the scene. "We will be here to give you updates on this story throughout the day—”

Elijah flicks the vid off. They sit in silence for a second, and he can feel Orlando's shock. They should have rested before watching this.

"They're... they're _lying_ ," Orlando says finally. "I don't understand. Why would they do that?"

"It makes sense. A rogue sensitive is much less scary to the public than an escaped reader. If they admit that they don't have control over a reader, there would be serious panic."

Orlando makes a brief stab at looking pissed, but it falls into exhaustion. "You're taking this very well," he observes as Elijah hands him yet another glass of water.

Elijah shrugs. "I knew they'd do this. Well, I thought it'd be both of us, but I knew when they couldn't keep the lid on it, they'd paint us as evil. Plus," he continues with a grin, "I've already had a hissy fit, and it didn't really fix anything."

Elijah starts scrolling through the other reports to see if anything jumped out at him. They watch several more, but when it's all a repeat of the same, he calls for stop. He gives Orlando more meds and all but carries him to bed.

"You were right, you know," Orlando says, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. "I didn't think about what would happen after I got out. I thought I'd get away and be free, and I couldn't think any farther than that. But we're not free, are we?"

"No," Elijah says softly. "Not yet."

***

They spend the next two days going through all the information they downloaded. Orlando is obsessed, pushing himself too hard. Elijah has to make him eat and sleep.

He should probably be worried, but he's not. Rather, he sees the intensity that allowed Orlando to focus and remain conscious enough to escape while still hooked up to a system that was literally invading his mind.

Orlando sits beside him quietly at dinner, both of them watching the empty street outside on the monitor.

"I think I have a plan," Orlando says finally into the silence.

"Well," Elijah says, momentarily thrown off balance by that announcement. He grins in relief. "Thank fuck for that."

"Don't be too excited. I don't think you're going to like it much."

"At this point? I'll take anything."

Orlando shrugs in a you-asked-for-it kind of way. "I've been thinking about it, and you're right. We're not free yet. The Protectorate at this point can't stop looking for us, even if we leave the city limits because the public will know that they failed. They can't allow that, so they'll never stop hunting us."

"Great peptalk," Elijah interjects sarcastically. Orlando rolls his eyes.

"The only way to be free, then, is to not have the reader system at all. So we're going to destroy it."

"We're going to destroy the reader system," Elijah repeats slowly. He nods. "You're right. I hate this plan."

"Will you just listen?"

"But there's no way we can do that!" Elijah insists.

"You said the same thing about leaving the hotel!" Orlando retorts, voice rising.

"Touché," Elijah acknowledges softly. He thinks about it, but really, they're living on borrowed time, anyway. They might as well go down doing something worthwhile. "Right. So what are we going to do?"

Orlando smiles. "We're going to wake up the readers."

"Can we do that?" Elijah asks.

"We can't, not from here," Orlando explains, "But I think there's someone who can help. When I was watching the vids, I came across this." He fetches the comp pad, voice animated and moving with a grace Elijah has never seen before. "All of the interviews are with the Protectorate, and they all say the same thing, that the system can't be beat, blah, blah, whatever. But this guy," he says, pointing to the dark haired man in glasses paused on the screen. "This guy is a scientist."

Orlando starts the vid. "Dr. Csokas?" A woman's voice off screen asks, "Can you tell us how one sensitive is able to countermand the entire reader system? Is there a problem with the surveillance network?"

"This system was created by Dr. Blanchett herself," Dr. Csokas replied indignantly. "It is perfect."

Orlando stops the vid.

"Dr. Blanchett," Elijah muses. "I know that name."

"You should," Orlando agrees. "She's in Viggo's notes."

"Right, right. She created the system, was the highest ranking scientist in the Protectorate until she very publicly left. They said it was for psychological reasons, but Viggo wasn't convinced."

"I think she must have had an attack of conscience. We've already seen what the Protectorate does to anyone who crosses them."

"True, they would make her sound crazy to keep the public from listening to her. But what if you're wrong. Say we find her, and she's still loyal to them. What will we do if she won't help us?"

"Elijah," Orlando starts and trails off, then meets Elijah's eyes defiantly. "She will help us, because I'll make her."

Elijah frowns. “You promised-”

"Not to control _you_ ,” Orlando interrupts. “I hate it, I swear I do, but this is too important. It'll be a last resort, but I won't leave any weapon off the table."

“That’s the kind of attitude that got you locked up in the first place!”

“I was a child,” Orlando retorts coldly. “I didn’t have any kind of attitude, and if I do now, it’s from over a decade of slavery.”

There’s a long pause. “Sorry,” Elijah says. “I shouldn’t have implied it was your fault.”

Orlando nods and continues. “The goal is to get free. If we can free everyone else at the same time, we should do it. No one should have to live like that. And if doing that means I have to force one person into helping, then I will.”

Elijah sighs and runs his hand through his hair. They are fast running out of options. "I know. I just don't like it."

"I understand," Orlando murmurs. “Let’s hope it won’t come to that.”

Elijah lets the silence stretch for a minute and then changes the subject. "So how are we going to find her? Viggo didn't include her address with his history lesson."

“I’ve been thinking about that. We can hack into the Protectorate’s database.”

“The most secure information in the city? That’s not risky and stupid.”

“If it’s the only way...” Orlando shrugs.

“I think we’ll leave that as Plan B. Here,” Elijah pulls out the notebook and flips to the correct section, their mostly finished dinner plates moved aside. “Viggo included a list of every Protectorate property he was able to find. See if anything stands out."

Reading over the list doesn’t give them any clues. They have vague titles like ‘Residential’ and ‘Manufacturing Facility’, but don’t list the individuals that might frequent them.

Orlando pulls up a map on the comp pad, and starts plotting the addresses. “Interesting,” Elijah comments as they go down the list, red dots marking the various locations.

"Yeah, this residential property is out by the city limits, while the others are in luxury apartments near the city center. That doesn’t tell us what it is, though.”

"No, but look,” Elijah demands, pointing, “That same address is listed as a 'Primary Lab Facility'. It’s the only address that repeats. Now, who would have a lab in their house that would still be considered a primary facility?"

"Hmm, let's see. One Dr. Blanchett?" Orlando asks with such relish that Elijah has to laugh.

"Okay, I admit it. This might actually work. I mean, ignoring the part where we have to evade the entire Protectorate, find and get the help of a scientist who might actually be crazy and then do something that may or may not be possible to wake up the readers, it's the perfect plan!"

Elijah glances at Orlando when there's no response to his teasing and finds him staring intently at the street monitor. His stomach immediately feels too heavy, and he wishes he hadn't eaten. "What?" he whispers.

"I thought I saw..." Orlando frowns. They are both riveted to the small screen.

"There!" Elijah hisses, and yes, that's a Protectorate officer, moving out in and out of the shadows toward the apartment, nearly impossible to see in the dim light of dusk.

"Get dressed," Elijah orders, and snaps up the comp pad and notebook from the table and stowing it in the bags from Viggo, still packed and ready to go. He pulls on his own clothes instead of pajamas, hands Orlando a smaller bag full of spare clothes from the apartment, and in two minutes they're ready to go.

There are two officers at the door now, clear in the monitor, and Elijah realizes that while he's gone over this moment in his head too many times, he never discussed in with Orlando, and now there's no time. He does the only thing he can think of, grabs Orlando's hand and pulls at Orlando's mind, mixing their thoughts together.

Orlando's thoughts are warmer than he remembers, less frantic. His fear is sharp, but offset by the relief of Elijah next to him, and Elijah is likewise calmed by Orlando’s solid presence.

They wait, facing the door, until the Protectorate batters through it.

The amplifier block immediately shuts down, and Elijah can feel the entire weight of the system descend on them, but instead of ignoring or fighting it, Elijah grasps the signals in the amplifiers and bends them to his will so that no one can sense them. It's easier than he thought, especially with his talent for the electronics.

Orlando has rendered three of the men unconscious with a touch of his thoughts and is interrogating the last. There’s only four of them, investigating a chance lead about a car and newly occupied apartment that fit the timeline, and they hadn't follow protocol to report their location. There’s too much glory in catching the fugitives to pass it up to their superiors.

The last man collapses, unconscious.

 _Let's go,_ Elijah thinks.

 _And find Dr. Blanchett,_ Orlando agrees.

Hand in hand, they step over the fallen men and out into the night. 


	3. Reader

Dr. Blanchett's home is on the very outskirts of the city. They can see the city limit barrier out past a large field. A short fence runs the perimeter of an overflowing garden, and everything has a slight hint of age about it. It's pretty small, too. Elijah's not sure where that principal lab is supposed to be hiding.

In short, not what he was expecting.

There's a small sign on the private drive that has "Blanchett House" painted on it, though, so this must be the place.

Orlando was manipulating the system while Elijah drove, but there's a smaller concentration of amplifiers out here as compared to the more populated parts of the city, so he doesn't seem as strained. The house seems void of any kind of technology, which both dates it and gives Elijah hope that Dr. Blanchett will be inclined to help them.

The front door opens as they get out of the car, and a tall blond exits. Elijah walks quickly around car, standing in front of Orlando.

She stops a few feet away, studying them. Her face gives no sign of her thoughts, although she must have recognized Elijah since he’s been plastered all over the news.

"Well," she says abruptly, causing Elijah to jump slightly. "You'd best come in." She turns and goes back into the house without waiting to see if they'll follow.

Elijah glances at Orlando, but he just shrugs. It's not like they really have an option, so Elijah leads them into the house. As soon as they pass the threshold, Orlando makes a small noise and sways a little. Elijah grabs his arm to steady him and feels Orlando's relief and realizes that it's because he's no longer hiding their location from the system.

"Amplifier block," Elijah says.

Dr. Blanchett looks over from the stove where she's heating the tea kettle. "Inhibitor," she corrects. "Sit down. Please."

They sit at the small kitchen table while Dr. Blanchett gets the tea cups together and pours some for each of them. It's all very polite, and Elijah can't help but wonder if she's just keeping them occupied, stalling for time while waiting for the Protectorate.

"Dr. Blanchett," Elijah begins after a mouthful of too hot herbal tea.

"Cate, please," she says. "I’ve little use for my title these days." Her eyes tick over Orlando, noting each sign of weakness, from his frown to the slight tremor in his hands. "You're looking much better than I would have guessed. We projected a much longer recuperation time."

"I'm not one hundred percent," Orlando responds. "But we do what we must."

"Yes, very true," she sets her cup down, a gentle tickle of china, and asks, "May I?"

Elijah doesn't know what she's talking about, but Orlando nods. She comes around the table and tilts his head down, examining the connection ports in his scalp and then the site of the IV port on his arm, manipulating the skin with her fingers, touching with a casual professionalism.

"All healing very nicely. You did well," she compliments Elijah, glancing at him and reading the surprise on his face. "What?"

"It's just..." But he doesn't know what to say.

"Most people won't touch us," Orlando explains, taking his arm back and shifting closer to Elijah.

"Most people are idiots," Cate says. She sits back down and takes another sip of tea. "So, as enlightening as this has been, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

There's a long pause. "We want to free the readers," Orlando admits. "Take down the Protectorate."

Cate's eyebrows are at her hairline. “You and what army?" she asks flatly.

"We were hoping you would help," Orlando says. "Did we need anyone else?"

Cate smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Flatterer. Freeing the readers would cripple the Protectorate, but as much as I would dearly love to see that happen, it’s not possible."

"Yes, it is," Orlando contradicts firmly.

"What?" Cate demands, voice cold.

"If you can get me hooked into the Protectorate's mainframe, I can wake up the readers. I know how to do it."

"I designed this technology. There's no back door, no override, no way to do what you're saying,” Cate insists.

Orlando shrugs. "I'm here."

"With the help of Mr. Wood—"

"No," Elijah interrupts, raising his voice slightly to speak over their disagreement. "I'm an innocent bystander of that,” he continues in a more reasonable tone. “Orlando woke up and made me help him."

"How is that possible?" She asks, shocked.

"It doesn't matter unless you can get me onto the Protectorate's system. It can’t be done from the outside."

She purses her lips in thought and then nods. "Come with me."

They stand from the table and follow her to an inconspicuous door. Then Elijah notices the lock next to it, and that's not so common. It's meant for high security and takes a palm print to open.

"First, you'd have to get us through a door much like this. My clearance was revoked, and there's no way no fake the palm print on such short notice."

"You don't need to," Elijah says. He bends for a closer look, lays one hand on the top of the mechanism, and engages the lock himself, bypassing the print analysis.

Orlando is smiling at him when he straightens, the door swinging open. "Next?" he asks Cate.

"I would have said that couldn’t be done," she admits, her eyes wide with surprise. “Interfacing readers with technology was the the largest hurdle to creating the amplifiers.”

“Elijah has a gift,” Orlando agrees, and Elijah shrugs. He’s always been better with computers than normal people, but he wouldn’t call it a gift.

“So I see.” She begins to smile sincerely, a very different expression from the wary politeness she'd offered before.

She flips a light switch just inside the door and goes down the stairs, leading them to a second door which opens into a clean, white lab. It's spacious, bigger than house above them, and the counters are covered with computers and half-built scraps.

"I'm the one who designed the inhibitors," Cate says, moving over to a workstation in the center of the room. "I took them to the head of the Protectorate and showed him, explaining how with this technology we could create entire buildings where Sensitives could live without being a threat. We could finally release the readers, wake them up and give them a life where they wouldn't be a danger to others."

She laughs, the sound is hollow, ringing though the lab. "I was told, in no uncertain terms, to stop working on this. They didn't want there to be a technology capable of hiding anyone from the system, and they didn't want to release the readers. The system was too profitable. It gave the Protectorate so much power, so much control over the city.

"I had always thought what we were doing was for the good of society, protecting both the citizens and sensitives. I couldn't believe how naive I had been. I sold my inhibitor technology on the black market and left the company, but... I never stopped working."

She picks up a pendant and slips it over her head, and Orlando gasps. Elijah reaches out with his thoughts to see what upset him and slams up against a barrier. He can't touch her mind.

"Try to sense me," she orders, but Orlando shakes his head.

"I already am. I can't get through."

She nods. "It's a localized version of the inhibitor. The field it creates is weaker, so it isn't reliant on a circuit and doesn't have to shape itself to the structure of a building. We could produce one for every citizen and not have to worry about sensitives violating free will. It literally couldn't happen.

"A single attack, no matter how devastating, won’t stop them. Taking down the Protectorate by force is not a long-term solution by itself. But added to this technology, they’ll no longer have a place to stand."

Orlando nods slowly. "I don't think it will stop all of the conflict,” he warns.

"No," Cate agrees easily. "I don't think anything will do that. But it gives us an option, an alternative to the reader system. Assuming you can shut it down." She doesn't ask, but her tone invites explanation.

Orlando smiles. "We don't have to free each reader ourselves. I just have to wake them up and teach them how to free themselves."

"Of course," Cate says, the answer dawning on her. "There's not near as much security around the life support coding. You can hack in and cut the sedation."

"Yes. And from the Protectorate, I’ll be able to plug in and communicate with every reader in the city."

"We'll need to go in at night," Cate says thoughtfully. "When most of the scientists are gone. All you need to do is free the readers. Once that’s done, I can use the Protectorate’s emergency channel to explain to the people."

Elijah shakes his head, unable to believe it will be that easy. “What can you possibly say to convince them that they’re better off without the Protectorate? Most people trust that it keeps them safe.”

“The people of this city will help us when they hear how their trust has been betrayed. That conversation I had with the head of Protectorate? I recorded it.” She pulls off the inhibitor, and Elijah feels a swell of emotion from her that takes him a few seconds to identify.

Hope.

***

Since it's hours before sunset and there’s nothing Elijah and Orlando can do to prepare, Cate shows them to a small bedroom with an admonishment to rest.

 _Do you think we can trust her?_ Elijah thinks at him. Orlando sits on the edge of the bed. His hands are shaking, and Elijah frowns. "You pushed yourself too hard."

He strips Orlando's jacket and kneels to remove his shoes, pausing and looking up after he finishes, realizing once again that he probably should have asked for permission. Orlando’s eyes are closed, too tired to notice, so he stands and pulls off Orlando's shirt.

"Lay down," he orders as he kicks off his own shoes and tugs his sweater over his head so that they're both bare from the waist up.

Orlando ignores him and grabs his wrist, and Elijah can feel panic rising up where they touch. "Hey," he says, nudging Orlando up into bed and covering them both up with the blankets. Orlando feels cold, and he tucks himself closer.

 _What's wrong?_ he asks, but all he gets in return is fear.

Elijah gives up on words, arranging them so that they're touching as much as possible with Orlando's head pillowed on his shoulder.

 _I don't want to do it,_ Orlando thinks, and projects an image that Elijah's knows too well, of Orlando lying helpless and hooked into the system, eyes open and aware. _But I have to. I have to do this._

"I know," Elijah says aloud. He breaks the grip Orlando still has on his wrist and takes his hand, entwining their fingers. _It's my worst nightmare, waking up hooked into the system. That's why you scared me so badly at the hotel._

All that pain and terror, and Orlando had still convinced him to help rather than continuing to manipulate him. He squeezes Orlando's hand, appreciating the warm weight of Orlando. _Everything is going to be fine,_ Elijah thinks firmly, leaving no room for doubt.

Orlando takes a deep, shuddering breath and falls into an exhausted sleep.

Elijah remains awake, staring at yet another unfamiliar ceiling and keeping watch over this beautiful, brave man as the room slowly darkens.

Cate opens the door after a while.

"Is it time to go?" Elijah asks.

She shakes her head no and leans against the door jam. "Not for another few hours. I just wanted to check on you."

"We're fine," Elijah says shortly.

"I found your notebook and medicines. I'll have something he can eat ready when I wake you in a few hours."

"Thanks." Elijah is uncomfortable speaking to her like this, reclined, and he has a suspicion that Cate knows it, but he won't move and risk waking Orlando.

She's silent for a minute, her sharp eyes fixed on Orlando's sleeping face. "He's quite something, isn't he?"

"Yes," Elijah agrees.

Cate studies him for a few seconds. "There's no reason for you to go with us," Cate says. "Orlando can unlock the door, and you can make it out of the city in your car. The Protectorate will be too busy to go after you."

Elijah is already aware of this, and unlike before, he's fairly sure he'd survive without Orlando's help now. It doesn't matter, though. "I'm not leaving him," Elijah tells her firmly. "Besides, Orli's more familiar with the reader system than anything else. You'll be better off leaving the locks to me."

She nods. "Good." There's another long pause, and then, "Can he do it?"

He relaxes slightly, understanding this line of questioning all too well. "Honestly? I think he can do anything."

She smiles. "Spoken like a lover, not an objective observer."

"It's the same answer either way," he argues, not bothering to correct her assumption.

"You should try to sleep," she says finally, still smiling at him. "You're safe here. I'll wake you when it’s time." She leaves, closing the door quietly behind her.

Elijah rests his cheek against Orlando's head, feeling the rasp of newly grown hair and warm skin, and slowly allows himself to drift away.

Cate is true to her word, waking them later when it's fully dark. Elijah thanks her and looks down at Orlando, whose eyes are already open. "She's scared," Orlando says after she leaves.

Elijah frees his arm from Orlando's waist and rubs across the tense muscles of his back. "I am, too." He sits up and hands Orlando his shirt.

They dress quickly, Orlando taking Elijah's hand as they leave the small guest room and holding it tightly.

After they eat, Cate slips on her inhibitor. She holds out two more. "I think you should wear them. It will be safer."

"No," Orlando argues. "I won't be able to use the amplifiers with that on. I can make sure they won’t see me."

Cate doesn't argue, simply offers one to Elijah.

He glances at Orlando, who shrugs. “It’s up to you.”

"One less thing to worry about," Elijah's says, taking it and slipping it over his head. The instant it settles against his chest, everything goes blank. It had been quiet at the safe house with only him and Orlando inside the inhibitor field, but now it's complete silence. It's creepy, and he can hear a roaring in his ears, as if he stood up too fast.

He looks up and sees Orlando's face, worried, but it's like he's not there, like there's nothing there at all. It's not Orlando, it's just an image, but then Cate is blocking his view and tearing the inhibitor off his neck.

Everything snaps back into place, and Elijah shakes his head and then reaches out to touch Orlando, whole and present beneath his hand. "Sorry," he apologizes, and has to clear his throat.

"What happened?" Cate demands. "You started hyperventilating."

"It was ... strange,” Elijah tries to explain. “Everything was completely silent, and I couldn't tell if you were really here or not. I could see you," he explains, "But it was just this image. It could have been anyone. Like you weren't you."

 _I'm here._ Orlando's thoughts are strong, and Elijah relaxes.

Cate pockets the inhibitors. Elijah's glad she didn't push for information, even though he can feel her curiosity bubbling beneath her calm expression. He can understand why she became a scientist.

She hands Orlando a dark hat. "At least wear this so you’ll look less like a reader," she says. Orlando pulls it on, hiding his bare head.

"Better." She pulls on a lab coat and picks up a sizable briefcase. "Let’s go."

She leads them out back where, just beyond the garden, a private aircar is parked.

"You'll have to keep them from tracking the car," she says as they climbed inside.

"No problem," Elijah assures her, already feeling his way through the car's electronics.

Cate drives carefully, but there's little traffic, and it doesn't take too long before they're within view of the Protectorate. It looks much the same as the last time Elijah had seen it, although at night it's lit up, shining with a white light.

They pass the public entrances and go around to the back, parking in the employee lot. Elijah's never seen this side, and he's surprised that they get in by hacking just a cursory thumb scan.

"People don't usually try to break in," Cate explains softly when she sees his expression. "And all the labs with important technology have their own security locks."

She leads them down the white corridors, taking several turns and walking with perfect confidence. She finally stops at another door, glancing at Elijah, who steps forward and forces the lock open. The door swings inside, and they enter, Cate quickly shutting the door behind them.

She moves over to the computer sitting prominently on the counter next to what looks like a cannibalized reader system.

"They've moved some things around," Cate murmurs, attention fixed completely on accessing the system. "We're on the wrong floor to rehook you into the reader system."

Elijah glances nervously at the door. Orlando moves closer, frowning. Then he gives a sharp exhale. "We set off an alarm."

"No, we didn't," Cate says, typing quickly at the computer.

"Yes, we did. There must be a redundant security system not connected to the amplifiers, because they know someone unauthorized has entered."

Cate curses. "You're right. I'm getting an alert here." She pauses, staring at the screen blankly. "It should have worked. They must have changed something, or added new security."

Orlando grabs her shoulder and shakes her gently. "Doesn't matter now. What do we do?"

"They only know they've been breached. They don't know the specifics, although they probably suspect you have something to do with it. It will take them a couple hours to search the whole building, and these labs are not a high priority, so they shouldn't check here first. But either way, it takes way too long to rehook someone."

She slams her palm against the counter, and whirls away, pacing for a few steps before stopping abruptly. "It takes a long time to reintroduce someone who already has the hardware. You have to thread the connections through the preexisting ports. But... introducing a new reader is much faster and more reliable."

"We don't have a new reader," Orlando snaps, but Cate doesn't reply, just looks past Orlando to Elijah.

He meets her gaze steadily. "Elijah's never been connected," Cate says.

Orlando pales. "No. No, that's not an option. Think of something else."

Cate thins her lips, but doesn't look away from Elijah. "I'm only a Grade 2," he reminds her.

"That’s debatable given what I’ve seen you do, but it doesn't matter. Orlando will be able to show your mind what to do."

He closes his eyes for a long second. He doesn’t want to do this, but... what if he were the one wired in? Or if Orlando was still in the basement of that hotel, trapped? He shivers. Then, even though it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, he opens his eyes and gives her a small nod. She goes to the computer, fingers flying over the keys.

"Orlando," Elijah says.

"No," Orlando denies, voice flat.

"It's our only chance."

"We'll think of something else," Orlando says severely.

"It's my choice," Elijah snaps, and Orlando crumples, miserable.

"This is your nightmare," he says helplessly. “You don’t have to do this.”

Elijah gives him a small smile. "You were afraid, too."

"We need to move," Cate calls, heading toward the door. "The lab is on this floor, but we need to get there quickly."

Orlando doesn't follow, still staring as if Elijah is breaking his heart. "Orlando, I'm doing this," Elijah insists.

"Fine." Orlando turns and follows Cate, who opens the door and once again leads them out into the corridors.

It takes them less than a minute to get to the correct lab. Elijah looks around at everything except the reader unit in the middle of the room.

Cate begins turning on screens, accessing the multiple computers. She tosses Orlando a small tool, which turns out to be an electric hair trimmer.

"Take off his hair," she orders. "The shortest setting."

Orlando frowns but turns on the unit and moves toward Elijah.

"Now we'll match," Elijah teases him, but the joke falls flat.

"You were right," Orlando says he as sets the trimmer gently against Elijah's head and cuts a swath through the dark hair, revealing the pale skin of his scalp. "I never should have gotten you involved in this."

"Maybe not," Elijah agrees. "But you did. And I wouldn't change it if I could." He watches the floor become littered with clumps of his hair. "Promise me that you'll stay out of my mind until I'm hooked in."

"Elijah, no," Orlando pleads, moving around to get to the back of his head, hand resting warm on his neck.

"You don't need to feel that," Elijah insists.

"He's right," Cate says from where she's working. "We can't risk you both being traumatized by the process."

"Fine." Orlando steps back and tosses the hair trimmer on a table, scowling at the floor.

Elijah runs a hand over the curve of his skull, feeling naked without his hair. "Does it look that bad?" he jokes, when Orlando keeps his eyes lowered.

Orlando looks up, surprised. "Of course not." He steps close again, his hand settling against Elijah's bare scalp. He pulls his hat off and leans in, resting their foreheads together. "Promise me that you'll be okay," he whispers fiercely.

Elijah ignores the tremor in his own hand to squeeze Orlando's wrist. He doesn't make a promise that he can't keep.

"I’m ready," Cate calls.

Orlando huffs a breath, warm against Elijah's face. For a second he thinks Orlando will refuse to let go, but then Orlando steps away, and there's nothing between Elijah and the reader unit.

He goes over to Cate, feeling a little dizzy and weak in the knees from fear.

"I'm going to give you a local anesthetic, but it's only going to help so much. This is usually done under full anesthesia," Cate says, injecting him above the left temple. "I'm also going to restrain you so that you're immobile during the process."

"Right," Elijah says, and then Cate's pushing him down into a high tech and scary version of a dentist chair. She binds his wrists and ankles and pushes his head back so that she can brace his neck, leaving his head stable and exposed.

"Here we go," Cate says. Elijah closes his eyes and then immediately opens them, unable to stand the anticipation, the terror of not knowing. "Integration commenced."

He doesn't hear much beside the gentle hiss of actuators, and he can't see the movement behind him. He has an instinct to reach his mind out and sense what's going on, but suppresses it, not wanting to interfere.

There's a touch of pressure, almost a tickle against his scalp, and for a second Orlando's fear and revulsion press against his mind, so loud that it drowns out his own panic, but then it retreats, and Elijah is left alone and hyperventilating.

"Orlando?" he calls, swallowing thickly, and Orlando shifts into his field of view. "You're doing great," Orlando praises him, though his voice is weak and his eyes keep flicking up to whatever is going on above his head.

"Can't really feel anything," he admits.

"Good," Orlando says firmly.

He shouldn't have said that, though, because that's when the pain does come, pressure all over his skull, so tight it feels like his head will explode. Then it gets sharper, a burning pain, as if all the skin on his head has been seared off and removed. He gasps and his eyes start to water.

"What's wrong?" Orlando demands, voice echoing strangely in his ears.

"Nothing," Cate replies. "We've reached the cranial bone."

Elijah is panting and jerking against the restraints, but they won't be moved.

"There's no blood," Orlando says distantly, barely making sense through the red, pain-soaked haze in which he's suspended.

"The lasers cauterize the wounds," Cate explains, but Elijah can't hear them anymore, can't do anything but writhe against the bonds and keen.

Any single second of this would be tolerable, but the way the pain keeps coming and coming, wave upon wave of agony, is too much to take. Elijah thinks he might be screaming but can't hear to be sure.

Then it all fades, not going away really, just quiets, as if someone has put a wall between him and the pain. He gasps in a breath, feeling it rattle in his throat and lets his body sag in the hold of the chair.

"Ports installed. Interfacing now," Cate says, loud in the sudden quiet.

"You okay, Elijah?" Orlando asks. Elijah opens his eyes. He doesn't remember closing them, and he can see a distressed Orlando bending over him, but he can also see an overlapping image of the white corridors they came through to get here. The double vision makes him feel queasy, so he shuts his eyes again, but the corridors remain.

He wonders what that is, and immediately knows that it's the nearest amplifier. He can see the approach to their lab and knows that no one is even close to them.

"He's accessing the amplifier system successfully," Cate says, and it's like it's in stereo because he can hear her in his ears and also within the system. "Now, Orlando."

Then Orlando climbs onto the chair and over Elijah, straddling his legs and sliding both hands along his jaw, gently cradling his face, one thumb curled against the corner of his mouth. They're face to face, and Orlando's mind slips against his, as gentle as his hands. Elijah pulls him in, the feel of Orlando familiar and welcome.

 _Good_ , Orlando thinks when he finds Elijah's tentative use of the system, but he doesn't immediately try to take control as Elijah expected. Instead, he lets himself fall deeper into Elijah's mind. Elijah can feel more than the surface calm that Orlando's projecting, can feel the worry like a knot in Orlando's gut and the fear of failing and the pain at watching Elijah suffer.

Orlando drags their thoughts together with determination, until it's not just momentary thoughts that are shared between them, but their memories as well. He remembers growing up reviled and alone, but he also remembers darkness and flickering images and touching everything through a maze of wire and electricity. He realizes what Orlando is doing is the only way they're both going to be able to access the system.

 _First the protectorate readers,_ they think, and reach out into the system. He's done this a million times, he's never done this before. The lines are so blurred that Elijah doesn't hesitate, Orlando's skills as familiar as his own.

They hit an internal firewall, but they're so good at hacking that it only slows them for a minute before they bypass it.

The rumors were true — there are five readers at the heart of the Protectorate systems. All of the readers are wired together, controlled and routed through a single hub, so all it takes is a single counter-order to stop the sedative and wake them with a jolt of adrenaline. The simultaneous panic from the awareness of the five strongest readers is overwhelming, and Elijah and Orlando are almost overloaded, but they manage to remain conscious.

In the back of his mind, Elijah can hear Cate yelling and feels his energy boost as she doses him with adrenaline as well, everything snapping into focus.

Then there's a touch at the surface of his and Orlando's minds, tentative and scared, and Orlando shares his memory of escape, his plan to free them all. There's silence for a few seconds, a long time from the perspective of thought and electrical signals, and then anger and determination rise up from the other readers, and they are acting.

One of the two females takes control of the guards outside the door, moving them like puppets into the room and starting to unhook the youngest reader, a twelve year old boy. The others stretch their minds out and start waking up the other readers in the city. Each reader is shown how to free themselves and how to wake others.

It's not clean. Several of the readers suffer heart failure when they wake. The readers integrated into especially sensitive systems, such as traffic control, have guards posted on them and are shot before they take hold of the guards minds to can prevent it.

Some of the readers are no longer sane, and escaping is not enough. They kill as many of the people around them as they can before dying themselves.

Elijah feels every death, feels the bright pressure of life against his mind and the sharp pain as it flares and goes out. He can see through the amplifiers that there are multiple car crashes and a plane collision as the readers, and therefore the computer systems they're wired into, are taken apart.

It's not just an escape, it's a war. His actions have started a war.

His doubt and grief grow stronger with passing moment, with each death, until Orlando is shielding him, blocking out anything but the immovable certainty that comes from being a reader, a slave, that they're doing the right thing. Orlando’s certain that no matter how bad it gets, this is the moral thing to do.

Soon, they retreat from the protectorate readers, unable to do anything more, but Elijah resists Orlando's urge to disconnect and mentally finds the holding cells in the lower levels of the Protectorate. This prison is for terrorists against the reader system and the sensitives that are considered unsafe. Elijah shorts out the locking system, releasing all of them, including Viggo.

Orlando finds Viggo's mind, a familiar bright point in the crowd, and skims his mind, giving him back his memories and the location of Henry, hooked into a hospital a few miles away. Viggo's absolute joy and gratitude settles Elijah’s conscience, and this time when Orlando insists they leave, he allows it.

He opens his eyes to find Orlando still settled on top of him, hands warm against his face, brown eyes open. “We did it,” Elijah breathes. Some part of him had doubted until that very moment, too afraid to even imagine that they’d finally be free.

Orlando is smiling, wide. He can still feel Orlando against his mind, a faint presence compared to how close he was before, buzzing with relief. "You were brilliant," Orlando says, and his voice is no longer doubled as Elijah pushes his mind away from the amplifiers.

He wrists are still caught in the restraints, so he can't move his hand to pull Orlando closer, but Orlando leans in anyway, their lips touching gently, then harder as they both feel how much the other wants this, emotions tangling between them.

One last drag of lips, and Orlando pulls back. "Unhook him. We've got to go."

"Move, then," Cate snaps, and Elijah realizes that she's been standing there waiting.

Orlando laughs and kisses him again quickly, leaving Elijah with the imprint of that smile against his lips, and then climbs off Elijah and out of the way.

He doesn't go far, though, and their minds stay pressed together. Elijah smiles back, no longer afraid.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at livejournal [here](http://often-adamanta.livejournal.com/207116.html).


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